Playing Games
by BuffySpike Shipper Society
Summary: Dawn discovers a secret. Set in the alternate season six SOGverse.


**Disclaimer:** The characters of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" are the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Productions, Inc. No copyright infringement is intended

**Rating: PG.** Some sexual content is suggested

**Editor's Note:** This story is set in the Buffy/Spike Shipper Society's alternate season six universe, known as the SOGverse. It takes place some time within two months after the end of the fanfiction novel "Shades of Gray." Reading that story is not necessary for enjoying this one but it is helpful.

Playing Games

An SOGverse fic

Written By Merrin

"OK, Nibblet. Guess we'll have to go best out of three."

"I'm still gonna beat you, and you know it."

Dawn and Spike sat on the Summers' living room carpet. Playing cards were variously stacked and strewn in between them.

Dawn smoothed a hand through her long hair. "How can you be losing so badly when you're such a cheater?"

Spike looked a bit offended. Then, with a tilt of his head, he acknowledged, "Yeah, well...I'm not the only one handy with the old card tricks."

She looked at him, her mouth hanging open.

He read her thoughts, winking at her. "Didn't know for sure 'til I saw your face just now. How does a fifteen-year-old slip of a girl get so good at card trickery?"

"Talent. Brains." She tilted her nose with mock superiority. "Maybe it's a spooky 'key' thing," she said with a smirk.

"So, your mystical, ages-old power, the one that makes you 'The key'… it's only good for cheating at cards now?" He shook his head, then let a slow grin spread across his face. "Oh, and Bit?" Spike said innocently, studying the cards in his hand before throwing them onto the pile. "How do you know I wasn't cheating to _help_ you win?"

She wrinkled her nose at him as she started gathering up the cards, putting them in a tidy stack. "Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"I just thought of another card game we could play, where you wouldn't be able to cheat."

His expression was curious, mildly amused, highly doubtful.

She bent the deck and held it right in front of his face, then started to rapidly flip the cards into his face. "Fifty-two pickup!" she shrieked.

Cards flying everywhere, Spike ducking out of the way. "And how old are you again? Fifteen going on seven?"

He grabbed a thick strand of her hair, twisted it around his fingers, and yanked at it with just the right amount of playful roughness, snarling with fake savagery.

Dawn was laughing so hard, she started to cough. Laughing. Coughing. And then hiccupping. She leaned forward over her crossed legs, coughing out of control.

Dawn felt him reach over to slap her on the back, trying to help her stop. And she heard him laugh. It was a nice laugh, kind of high in his voice: boyish, instead of manlike.

Finally, the coughing fit died down. Dawn rested her forehead on crossed hands, taking a deep breath. For just a moment she felt Spike's hand smooth her hair gently, the way her sister always did it. It was only for a second, then his hand pulled away.

She looked over at him, but he was busy gathering the errant playing cards from all around them. He stretched out for the ones that had landed on the hearth and by the television set.

It was so corny, but it was kind of like having a dad around again. He wasn't anything like her father. First of all, her father wasn't a vampire. But, besides that, her father wasn't here, was he?

Maybe Spike was more like an older brother. A really cool one that all your friends think is sexy.

"Hey, Bit?" Spike was trying to keep his mouth serious, but his lips were twisted with barely restrained laughter. Suddenly, the cards flew in Dawn's face as he missiled them straight at her nose.

Dawn was screaming with laughter when Buffy opened the door. Dawn looked up at her with a happy grin, then hesitated; this was frowny Buffy tromping over the doorstep. Spike quietly started gathering up the scattered playing cards.

Dawn decided to be in her good mood anyway. Maybe she could drag Buffy out of the depths of her tragically dark despair. The 'I died and got brought back to life' blues. Or whatever.

"You missed it. I got Spike to watch 'Gilmore Girls' with me. And he actually liked it."

"What? Cute mom. Smart-ass daughter." Spike aimed a pointed glance in Dawn's direction. "What's not to like?"

Buffy's features relaxed a little. "I've never seen that show, but I think I might like it. I always seem to be doing something else, though. What is it about demons and Tuesdays? You'd think they'd party hard on the weekends, like everybody else."

"I take it you've saved the world again, like a good little slayer."

"I didn't have to dismember any demons tonight, just shop with one. Well, an ex...one. Anya probably took people to the mall in her demon days just to wreak shopping vengeance on them. We must have been to every bloody store in the bloody place."

Spike crossed his arms, and raised one questioning eyebrow.

Buffy frowned. "Bloody. Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody. You don't own the word. And you don't _know_. Maybe I picked it up from hanging around Giles. _Anyway_," she sighed, "After we shopped for accessories, Anya made the owner of the bridal shop keep the store open for us for an hour after closing time, so she could do our fitting."

"I bet those dresses are the ugliest ever. It's so the bride will look extra good when you stand next to her. Being as frumpy as possible is your job, you know." Dawn flipped her hair behind her shoulder. "Not that it'll be _hard_ for you or anything..."

"So...Dawn," Buffy asked with an answering gleam in her eye, "Did you listen to your baby-sitter while I was gone?"

Simultaneously, Dawn and Spike exploded in protest:

"Bloody hell, slayer, you said you weren't going to use that noxious word..."

"I don't _need_ a baby-sitter, I'm old enough to _be_ the baby sitter."

"My trust was betrayed, Dawn; you haven't earned it back. That little incident, just a couple of months ago?"

"Uh huh, months and months and _last year_ ago..."

"Well, since the mother hen is home, the soddin' _baby-sitter_ is going home to his crypt to have a bit of nourishment."

"No!" Dawn practically shrieked, "Don't go! We'll feed you popcorn. And chips and salsa. And we'll play a game. How about Clue?" Dawn planned to be relentless. "Buffy'll play, won't you?" She just didn't want him to go home yet.

"Dawn..." Buffy sighed, seemingly giving in, already.

"That the one with all the murder weapons and the dead bodies in the library? I kill at that one."

"No you don't. I murder you at that game."

"'Enough with the bloodshed," Buffy protested. "I'll play if it's something a little...tidier. And less work-related. How 'bout Monopoly?"

"OK. But it shouldn't matter to you, 'cause you always lose anyway."

It didn't take Dawn long to race upstairs to get the game board, and get everything set up on the living room floor. Buffy and Spike were still standing aimlessly by the front door, so she yelled at them, "Come on, losers!"

Dawn liked board games, even though she would never want any of her school friends to know. _Un_cool, OK? But there was fun to be had. She liked to win, to crush the other players, especially Buffy and Spike, into dust, and she liked to ponder life when it wasn't her turn.

It felt right. Dawn and Spike and Buffy here together. Like, attached. Instead of free-floating, like when her Mom died. Her dad was a rogue satellite: just...out there somewhere. But Spike was here. Steady, you know?

Dawn rolled the dice, moved her little dog eight spaces, landing right on the property she coveted.

"You rolled a seven."

"I did not," she answered him with spirit. "The dice was part-way between a three and a four, but more of a four."

"The three was definitely on top."

"That's only from your warped perspective."

"Guys! Who cares? Roll it again." Buffy sounded irritable and tired.

Spike smiled knowingly at Buffy's worn-out tone and reached out to touch her cheek with a caressing gesture. When she jerked her head away and shot him a look of death, he pulled back. Buffy glanced quickly at Dawn, then turned her eyes back to the game board, ignoring Spike.

Spike looked at her profile, at the fall of her blonde hair down her back. Dawn could see the wide-open longing in his eyes.

Poor Spike. That unrequited thing. Well, it was no more dysfunctional than most of her friends' families. "Dad" loves "Mom". She doesn't love him back. Kid watches it all, decides it doesn't make sense.

"Dawn. Oh, Dawnie..." Buffy's singsongy voice drifted into Dawn's sphere of consciousness.

"Huh? What?"

"You have to roll again, twit-wit."

"Shut up, Barfy. You're giving me a sick headache pain. I'll get it!" she shouted as the doorbell interrupted the beginning of a long string of affectionately bruising sisterly epithets.

"It's Xander and Anya!" Dawn called out as she opened the front door. Anya bustled into the living room, with Xander dragging in behind her. He looked, well, hunched over and battle-weary. Dawn hoped he survived until the wedding.

"Buffy," Anya said, "When we were at the shop, that woman, that incompetent, _un_-businesslike seamstress...some people are just unworthy hangers-on of the capitalist system...she forgot to get your bust measurements."

"I've got a tape measure upstairs," Buffy said. "I'll be right back."

"Ahn, honey, I think she said she forgot to get _Tara's_..."

"Xander, sweetie," Anya said as she patted his arm affectionately, "You were sleeping at the time. Snoring. Like an adorable lump. We had to climb over your legs to get to the dressing rooms."

"But, Anya, I _thought_ I heard..." Xander earnestly tried again.

"S_weetie_..." This was accompanied by a tensed-up brow, dark-sky warning of an approaching storm.

Xander rolled his eyes heavenward. "OK. _Honey_. You're right. I forgot how this thing works. I know nothing; I'll speak no more."

Dawn observed this exchange with alert eyes. Like maybe it would come in handy for biology class, or something: studies in human mating behavior.

"Been workin' on my best man's toast. Mullin' over what should go in it." Spike looked over at Xander with a glint in his eyes. "Shall I describe how the two of you got together? "Tawdry one night stand turns into true love". It's a touching good story, don't you think?"

Xander swung around to peer suspiciously at Anya, who opened her eyes wide. It was her _Whatever is he talking about? I certainly didn't tell him_ expression.

Buffy came jogging down the stairs. "Here you go." Buffy handed Anya a scrap of paper with some scribbles on it.

Spike made a show of peering over at it. He then made a bigger show of acting unimpressed. He raised an eyebrow at Dawn, who giggled behind her hand.

Buffy rolled her eyes in their general direction.

"Do you really think I made the right decision about the lilies?" Anya asked Buffy.

"OK, guys, we're going. Anya, we're going. _Please_ talk to Buffy about the centerpieces later. Or, you can describe them to _me_ again, for the twelfth time, if it makes you feel better. You can pretend you're talking to Buffy. I'll even check my watch numerous times and cross and uncross my legs while examining every tile in the ceiling."

Buffy harrumphed at him, then reached for his shoulder, giving it a sympathetic squeeze.

Xander maneuvered Anya out the door, exchanging a look with Spike that seemed to say, "_Centerpieces...next it'll be place settings dear **God** please help me_."

A little bit later, the game board lay abandoned in the middle of the floor. The TV was on, flickering with images of a helpless young woman dressed in a flowy costume. She was trembling in the presence of a well-oiled vampire in evening dress. It was an old horror flick: nobody bothered to check the TV guide to find out the title.

Every once in a while, Spike commented on the action with a derisive "Chuh" sound.

"What?"

"Please. Give me the classics. Bela Lugosi got it right in the first place; all these other jackanapes are just...pretenders."

Dawn was stretched out on the floor, leaning her chin in her hands and staring at the television. Spike and Buffy sat at opposite ends of the couch.

"Think I'll check on the popcorn situation." Buffy got up to go into the kitchen.

"Yeah, well it won't help this flick."

Spike watched Buffy go. Dawn studied his face. He seemed to feel her scrutiny and turned toward her. He surrendered a rueful smile, then glanced at the screen. "Look out, Bit. You're missin' the sexy part."

Dawn turned back toward the TV just in time to see the face of the vampire bat, rushing up close, beady eyes glowing red. She squealed and buried her face in the sofa cushion in front of her, then reached out with one leg to kick at Spike.

"Careful, brat, I bruise easy." Spike swung his legs out of her reach. "Hey, you got anything stronger than lemonade in this nunnery?"

"Shut up! You drank my last root beer. I think you'll have to be satisfied with Buffy's diet Coke."

"Back in a sec."

Spike was right. The movie was lame. No one would ever believe that this vampire-guy was hypnotic or irresistible or anything...

Where was everybody?

The kitchen was dark, shadowy. Only the light above the stove was on. Spike and Buffy were barely hidden around the corner, standing with about a foot's distance between them: a standoff between two warriors. Dawn stayed in the shadows, peering out at them, following some unconscious instinct that told her to keep quiet.

Some warriors. You would think they would have heard her coming, or _smelled_ her coming...OK, _that_ was just gross. But still...

Maybe in her own house, she wasn't so noticeable. Or maybe they were too intent on each other.

Spike's hand moved quickly; he was reaching to touch Buffy's cheek. She turned away. It was a replay of the little drama that had played out in the living room. Spike repeated the gesture with a twisted smile, and she grabbed his wrist. Dawn could see Buffy's hand quivering with the strength she was using. Neither one of them moved for a moment.

Dawn was as still as they were. She could see part of Spike's face in the light. His jaw clenched with a rolling wave of tension that moved through the muscles in his face. Dawn could see one eye: blue as ever, but glittery, like a shard of glass.

Dawn's heart was beating rapidly. She felt a thrum of danger, and her breath was trapped high in her chest. She felt it: something was coming. What she sensed wasn't an approaching outburst of violence, but something else, closely akin...

When Spike's other hand gently found her hip, Buffy tensed, but didn't pull away. Dawn watched as he traced a line up Buffy's torso, over her breast, then along the skin bared by the neckline of her blouse. The point of his finger came to rest on the pulse point at the base of her throat.

Then he reached up and threaded his slender, strong fingers through her hair, closed the strands tightly in his fist and tugged sharply.

Dawn felt the beat of her own heart in so many strange places in her body. The tips of her fingers. Behind her ear, her eyes. Deep down, a pulsing warmth that was like pain...

Spike's mouth hovered over Buffy's, open to the exhales of her shallow breathing.

Dawn's mouth was partly open, but she felt like she couldn't breathe. The tension wound through her body, wrapping itself around her middle, around her heart.

How they stared at each other, as if they were trying to see inside. Their bodies had automatically slid close, interlocking intimately. You could tell that they had been to this place a thousand times, pressing tight. It was like this whole strange love story without any words. Love story? From the looks on their faces it looked more like hate. Or love disguised as hate.

All of this flew through Dawn's brain in a fraction of a second, so fast that it made her dizzy. And maybe a little queasy. When Spike's mouth descended over Buffy's, Dawn silently backed away.

"Dawnie, where were you?" Was there an edge of anxiety in Buffy's voice?

Buffy and Spike had retaken their far distant positions on the sofa.

Dawn strode into the living room with quiet determination. "In the bathroom." The last words she was going to speak tonight. She didn't look at either one of them. She slid down onto the floor and lay her head on the sofa cushion, letting her hair partially cover her face.

Needed to think, that's all. When her brain remembered how.

"Dawn, why don't you go up to bed if you're sleepy?"

Dawn shook her head silently.

No one spoke. The television audio was the only sound in the room for a few minutes. Dawn had no idea what all of the shrieking and frantic music was about, because she wasn't watching. There was a carnival already going on inside her head: Ferris wheels and spinning lights, and lots of noisy voices. She didn't know how to shut it off, and she couldn't make any sense of it.

With the last part of her functioning brain, Dawn noticed when the movie ended a short while later. Dawn heard Spike stretch and rise off of the sofa.

"Ladies, it's been scintillating, but my belly is empty and rumbling, so I'll be going." Spike nudged Dawn's foot with his own. "Hey, Bit, see you later, okay?"

Dawn mumbled an answer. She felt him bending down over her, and for just a moment, his hand was against her hair. She lay very still.

She heard footsteps as he walked toward the door, then his soft voice saying, "Might see you later, on...patrol?"

"Yeah," Buffy said brusquely. "Maybe." Dawn sensed Buffy turning in her direction, felt herself the focus of a speculative glance.

Patrolling. Yeah. _Right._

Dawn turned her head and buried it fiercely into the sofa cushion as the front door closed with a soft _click_.

**Editors' Note:** This was a challenge fic, issued to our writer MerrinM (at her provocation I might add). The following parameters were used:

1.Dawn be present

2. a board game be used

3. Gilmore Girls be mentioned

4. Anya and Xander show up and start arguing about their upcoming wedding.

5. I would also specify that it take place in the SOGverse as opposed to the show.


End file.
